


Stay Away from the Crab Dip

by embroiderama



Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Established Relationship, Food Poisoning, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-01
Updated: 2012-04-01
Packaged: 2017-11-02 22:52:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,061
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/374253
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/embroiderama/pseuds/embroiderama
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An evening out for Jeff and Jensen ends badly when Jeff gets food poisoning.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stay Away from the Crab Dip

**Author's Note:**

> This is ridiculously self-indulgent. Established relationship, basically non-AU other than the absence of RL significant others and pets.

Jeff had looked good—looked great—when he and Jensen had headed out to Jeff's favorite restaurant for dinner, and as far as Jensen was concerned the evening had been wonderful—good food, time spent with Jeff somewhere that wasn't home or some hotel. By the time they had coffee and dessert, Jensen got distracted from his creme brulé by the fact that Jeff hadn't touched his cheesecake and wasn't even drinking his coffee.

"I didn't think you were ever too full for dessert."

"That's only when you're the dessert, sweetheart." Jeff grinned, but it was a shadow of his normal leer.

"Seriously, are you okay? You look a little pale, actually."

"Eh, my stomach feels kind of funny, but I was working my abs earlier and then eating all of this, maybe it was too much."

"You want to get out of here?"

"No, I'm fine. Go ahead and finish your food, I know you were looking forward to it."

"I was looking forward to dinner with you, the food's just a bonus." Jensen took another bite of his dessert and worked on his coffee, trying not to stare at Jeff too much. As much as Jeff loved to watch Jensen and take care of him, he squirmed under the same kind of attention. Still, when Jensen caught Jeff with a tight little grimace on his face and a hand resting over his belly, he put his spoon down. "Seriously, let's pay and get out of here. I'm done."

Jeff lifted an eyebrow like he knew Jensen was lying for his sake, but then he let his shoulders slump down. "Yeah, okay. I wouldn't mind getting home and stretching out, getting out of this suit."

The check was already on the table, so Jensen flagged down the waiter to take his credit card, and two minutes later they were on their way out to the parking lot. Jensen was trying his best not to hover, but Jeff didn't look right, his face tense and pale, his hands constantly drifting toward his midsection even as he tried to look normal. "Okay," Jensen said, standing in front of the car. "I'm driving us home."

Jeff sighed and looked like he was gearing up to argue, then he frowned, his eyebrows drawing together, and he pulled the keys out of his pocket. "Fine."

Jensen turned the radio down to a low murmur and tried to focus on getting them home as quickly as possible without driving like a maniac. He had just gotten off the highway, only a few miles away from the house, when he heard a strange sound from Jeff, a strangled sort of groan like Jeff had made the sound entirely against his will. Stopped at a light, he looked over at Jeff, and under the cold light of the street lights Jeff's face was clammy with sweat and paler than he'd been at the restaurant. He reached over and put a hand on Jeff's thigh and felt the muscle tensed into a knot.

"What's going on?"

Jeff didn't answer, just shook his head slightly, but he was scrabbling with both hands, the left trying to pop open his seat belt, the right grabbing for the door handle, and then he was hanging out the door, doubled up and throwing up onto the street.

"Shit!" Jensen put the car in park and flipped on the blinkers before popping his own seat belt and scooting over to hold onto Jeff's shoulders, worried that Jeff was going to topple out headfirst onto the blacktop. Jeff coughed and heaved again and then just hung there panting. Jensen moved closer and wrapped an arm around his chest. "You done for now?" he asked Jeff quietly.

"Think so," Jeff answered, his voice raspy and worn.

"Come on then, let's get home." He tugged lightly on Jeff's arm, and Jeff finally turned around and pulled the door closed. He had his eyes closed, his body held utterly still, so Jensen reached across him to fasten his seat belt then fastened his own and started driving again once the light turned green. He did his best to drive smoothly and avoid potholes and he didn't even bother asking Jeff how he felt because it was obvious that the answer would be _not good._

Jensen kept the radio off, just listened to the hum of the engine and Jeff's breathing—in and out through his nose in measured increments. Every time he stole a glance sideways, Jeff had one hand clenched around the seat belt where it crossed his chest, the other hovering over his belly, his eyes closed tight. As Jensen drove over the bump between street and driveway, Jeff moaned and moved a hand to cover his mouth, his left hand still gripped tight around the nylon of the seat belt.

"Almost there," Jensen told him, trying to sound reassuring rather than panicked. He hit the garage door button and pulled the car in next to his truck before slamming it into park and running around to Jeff's side of the car.

Jeff was already pulling himself out, leaning on the door as he stood up. As Jensen walked closer, Jeff held up a hand. "Open the door," he muttered, barely opening his mouth.

"What?" Jensen asked, confused, then turned around and hit the alarm code to open the door between the garage and the kitchen. He pulled the door open, and Jeff shouldered through, heading straight for the half-bath off of the hallway. Jensen grabbed a glass and filled it up from the fridge then followed Jeff, finding him already on his knees heaving into the toilet, his back arched and straining.

Jensen breathed shallowly through his mouth and swallowed back his own nausea for a moment before moving closer to Jeff. He was sweating, his face red, the hair at the back of his neck damp and curling, and when Jeff paused long enough to rest his head on the toilet seat Jensen pulled off his jacket, working it over his shoulders and off of each arm. With just two layers of cotton between them, Jensen could feel the heat of Jeff's back, the way the muscles moved under his skin with each uneven breath.

"Shit," Jensen whispered, "where did this come from?"

"Dunno," Jeff murmured, then he went stiff and knelt up further to hang his head past the toilet seat again. He was just dry-heaving, torturing his throat and stomach, and Jensen wanted to stop it. He wet a washcloth and knelt down next to Jeff with the glass of water in his other hand.

"Hey, come on." He rubbed his hand over the tense muscles at the back of Jeff's neck and tried to ease him a few inches away from the mess in the toilet bowl. "Take a sip, get the taste out of your mouth." Jeff closed his eyes and shuddered, but then he took the glass in his hand and swallowed one tentative sip and then a second.

Jensen reached past him to flush the toilet and then took the glass back and ran the washcloth over Jeff's face, wiping away the sweat and sickness. His face had been flushed from the strain of throwing up, but as Jeff sank down onto his haunches his face went pale again, five o'clock shadow stark in contrast.

Jensen kept a hand on his shoulder, not sure if Jeff was more likely to throw up again or pass out or just stay there swaying on the floor all night. "What do you need," he asked, "Pepto, tea? Emergency room?"

Jeff's stomach grumbled audibly, and he pressed a hand tight against his middle. "Ugh, think I need a minute here."

"Hey, take your time."

"I mean—" Jeff closed his eyes against another stomach cramp. "Ugh, alone. Please, Jen."

"Uh...oh!" Jensen scrambled up and left the bathroom, then turned and spoke to the closed door. "I'll be out here, just shout if you need me."

Jeff's only response was to groan, and Jensen tried not to think too hard about what was going on in there, tried not to worry too much. He knew it probably wasn't anything too serious, but it came on so fast. If the restaurant had made Jeff sick, he was going to get somebody to sue their fucking pants off.

Jensen lingered just down the hall from the bathroom, far enough away that he wouldn't hear too much from inside but close enough that he'd hear if Jeff called for him. It didn't feel right, leaving him alone when he was so sick. He heard Jeff's phone ring, the faint trill of his generic ringtone, but unsurprisingly the call wasn't picked up. A minute later, Jensen's phone rang, a number he didn't recognize.

"Hello?"

"Mr. Ackles? Um, my name is Marci? I'm Mr. Morgan's PA from on set?"

"Uh, hi Marci. What's going on?"

"I called Mr. Morgan but he didn't answer? And he gave me your number for, you know, back-up?"

"Yeah?" Jensen caught himself echoing her questioning tone and cringed.

"Do you know if Mr. Morgan's okay? Or, um, if he's not okay?"

"Marci, can you tell me what's going on and why you're calling to check on Jeff?"

"Well, my boss called me after the director called her? Apparently a few people got sick? And they think it was bad crab dip? And I remember that Mr. Morgan—"

"Really likes crab dip." Jensen sighed. "How bad is this? I need to know if he should go to the hospital or what."

"Um, probably not? But the studio has a doctor who can come out to check on him if you want?"

"I think that's a good idea. Do you have the address to give to the doctor?"

"I think so? The Studio City address?"

"That's right. Have the doctor get out here soon, okay?"

"Yes, sir. Um, I hope Mr. Morgan feels better?"

"Me too. Thanks for calling me." Jensen heard the water run in the bathroom and hung up before Marci could ask any more questions.  
He walked back down the hall to the bathroom door and tapped on it lightly. "Hey, can I come in?"

"Yeah," Jeff answered, his voice low and quiet.

When Jensen pushed the door open, Jeff was leaning against against the sink while he washed his hands. His face was haggard and gray, and Jensen felt his gut clench up at the sight of Jeff looking so sick. Jensen edged up close and put his hand flat on Jeff's back. "You ready to go lay down?"

"Mmm, think so." He straightened up, wincing. "Think my phone was ringing."

"Yeah, your PA Marci called me when you didn't pick up. Apparently there's some food poisoning going around the set, and they're sending a doctor over to take a look at you."

Jeff shook his head slowly. "Don't need a doctor, Jen."

"Too late, I already said yes. And they _should_ send a doctor since they're the ones who let bad crab dip on set."

Jeff looked over at Jensen, his face even paler than it had been. "It was the crab dip? I—" He lurched, grabbed hold of the sink with both hands and heaved but nothing came up.

Jensen rubbed Jeff's back, moving close enough to catch him if the trembling he felt in Jeff's muscles sent him crashing to the floor. "Hey," Jensen said, trying to sound soothing rather than nervous as he looked at Jeff's red, tired face. "Hey, you need to breathe, okay? Breathe."

Jeff hauled in a breath that sounded like a sob then coughed, but after that his heaves tapered off into heavy breathing. "God," Jeff moaned.

Jensen kept his hand on Jeff's back and just let him rest for a moment until the rhythm of Jeff's breathing was smoother. When he saw Jeff's arms shaking where he still leaned over the sink, he knew it was time to move. "Come on, you need to get horizontal."

Jeff nodded shallowly and moved toward the door. As he herded Jeff down the hall and up the stairs Jensen felt the trust implicit in Jeff's weight where he leaned against Jensen's side, in Jeff's barely-open hooded eyes as Jensen guided him toward the bedroom. Jeff's shirt was already unbuttoned at the neck, his tie discarded somewhere along the way, and his belt was undone, hanging loosely around his waist but Jensen thought he'd feel better without the pressure of pants against his stomach and the smell of his splattered shirt.

While Jeff sat on the side of the bed, Jensen unbuttoned his shirt and slipped it off his arms then pulled off Jeff's shoes and unzipped his pants. "Here, lay down." When Jeff was curled up on his side, one hand loosely guarding his belly, Jensen tugged his pants down and folded him under the covers. "I'll be right back okay."

Jensen ran downstairs at five times the speed he'd gone up them with Jeff and grabbed a few bottles of water from the pantry plus a big plastic bowl from the cabinet before jogging back upstairs. When he got back to the bedroom Jeff was sitting up again, bent over the bunched-up covers in his lap. Jensen passed him the bowl, and Jeff heaved, throwing up little more than spit, and then groaned, his eyes pressed tightly shut.

"Done for now?" Jensen asked, his hand on Jeff's shoulder. At Jeff's nod he took the bowl away and put it on the floor. "Think you could drink some water? Just a few sips?"

"I don't want to throw up anymore." Jeff's voice was dry, worn bare, and Jensen winced at the sound of it.

"Okay, we'll wait for the doctor."

Jeff slumped back down to the mattress and curled up on his side again, looking exhausted and vulnerable in a way Jensen had never seen him before. He ached to do something to make Jeff feel better, and the only thing he could think to do was to walk around to the far side of the bed and climb on, laying down on top of the covers with his body fitted against Jeff's back, his hand covering Jeff's where he held it protectively over his belly. Jeff sighed and leaned back against Jensen's chest.

He didn't know how long they'd been laying there when the doorbell sounded from downstairs. Jeff sat up, startled out of his doze, and moaned at the too-quick movement.

"You need the bowl again?"

"No," Jeff bit out, then pressed his lips together again.

Jensen hesitated, then put the bowl up on the bedside table before jogging downstairs to answer the door. The video on the security system showed a middle-aged woman holding up ID that identified her as an employee of the studio, so Jensen opened the door. "You're the doctor, I guess?

She stepped inside and held out her hand, which Jensen shook quickly before turning to lock the door behind her. "I'm Dr. Rao. I was sent to check on Mr. Morgan—"

"Yeah, let's go upstairs because he feels like shit." Jensen led her to the stairs, and they started walking up together. "I mean, pardon my language, but I hope you have something in that bag to make him feel better."

"It's not a problem, that's what I'm here for. What are Mr. Morgan's symptoms."

"He puked, I don't know, five or six times maybe. He has it coming out both ends, his stomach keeps cramping, and he won't drink anything."

"Okay, that sounds like the same symptoms as the other affected cast and crew members. I think we can get him feeling a little bit better soon."

"Good."

In the bedroom, Jeff was clutching his stomach again, and he barely opened his eyes and nodded when the doctor introduced herself and asked if she could treat him. Jensen stood across the room, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed over his chest, and watched as she checked him out. Finally, she took out a small bottle and a needle.

"What is that?" Jensen asked, walking closer. "What are you doing?"

Dr. Rao looked over her shoulder and smiled. "Just an anti-emetic so that Mr. Morgan can stop vomiting and get some rest."

At Jensen's nod, she turned back to Jeff. Jensen looked away, not wanting to see the needle go into Jeff. When he looked back, Dr. Rao was tucking her equipment back into her bag, and Jeff was lying down on his side again, his eyes closed. Dr. Rao nodded her head toward the doorway, and Jensen walked out into the hall with her.

"He's going to be okay?"

"Mr. Morgan should be fine. It might take a few days for him to feel completely recovered, but as long as he's able to keep down some liquids tomorrow he shouldn't need any further medical attention. He should sleep through the night, and in the morning see if you can get him to drink some small sips of water and then have him sip on Gatorade or clear broth through the day. No caffeine for a few days, okay?"

"Okay." Jensen nodded, making a mental note to hide the coffee.

"When he feels like he'll be able to hold it down, give him some toast or crackers." She handed a glossy business card to Jensen. "And call me if you have any questions or if Mr. Morgan starts feeling worse."

"I will. Thank you for coming out so quickly."

"That's my job." She smiled and started walking back to the stairs.

Jensen saw her out, set the alarm for the night, then headed back upstairs. It was early for bedtime, but Jensen didn't want to sit around downstairs watching TV when Jeff was sick upstairs, and he didn't want to disturb Jeff by turning on the TV in the bedroom. And it had been a long week anyway, so Jensen got ready for bed and then climbed under the covers, fitting himself around Jeff again.

Jeff didn't react, and his body felt totally relaxed so clearly the shot was doing its job. Jensen tucked his nose into the back of Jeff's neck and listened to the sound of Jeff breathing, slow and steady, slow and steady. The rhythm of it followed Jensen down into sleep.


End file.
